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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146312">Liberty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilise284/pseuds/Emilise284'>Emilise284</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Knives Out (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Meetings, Gen, Go (game), Pre-Canon, if you are a Go enthusiast I apologize</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:15:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilise284/pseuds/Emilise284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marta and Harlan's first game of Go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marta Cabrera &amp; Harlan Thrombey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yuletide 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Liberty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/minim_calibre/gifts">Minim Calibre (minim_calibre)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Liberty: in Go, a vacant point that is immediately adjacent to a stone in a cardinal (orthogonal) direction, or connected through a continuous string of same-colored stones to such a point. A stone, chain, or group must have at least one liberty to survive.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Marta learned to play Go before she knew she wanted to be a nurse. As a junior in high school, she felt gawky, awkward, and intensely conscious of her accent.</p><p>She found solace in areas where she didn’t need to speak. She wanted to avoid drawing attention to her immigrant status and substantiating the fear of her mother’s undocumented status being discovered.</p><p>She tried sports: track left her wheezy and woozy, tennis with an overextended elbow, and basketball with a complex about her height. There were no hard feelings from the coaches when she could only commit to a few practices before dropping out of each sport.</p><p>Marta’s mom was encouraged by what she saw as socialization, though, so even though sports were a wash, she poked around at other after-school clubs that were more sedentary. After a few false starts, Go seemed like the perfect fit: some friends chatted amiably over the game, but she found like minds who simply wanted to sit and play. Once the rules of the game were explained, she could lose herself in the pattern the pieces formed, like a meditation.</p><p>Alice teased her for being a nerd, but her mom was pleased, and she kept with the club through graduation. Her nursing school didn’t have any such club, of course, so she fell out of the practice. Nursing could be just as meditative, though, and the loss didn’t sting so much as it could have.</p><hr/><p>Her first few visits to Harlan were stilted, formal. His housekeeper, Fran, directed her to one of the many sitting rooms in the vast house, a different one each time. She checked his vitals, administered his medications if he needed them, perfunctory. They exchanged requisite pleasantries, and she left after confirming his next appointment.</p><p>On the fifth visit, Fran instead shooed her up the stairs towards his office, where she found him sitting in the middle of the room and frowning over a completed Go game.</p><p>Marta blinked at the board, memories of long afternoons spent placing tiles in quietude brought to the fore. It looked like Harlan had been playing black, and lost, quite badly. She wondered how long he had been sitting here, contemplating the board; she had not encountered anyone on her way in, and the driveway was long enough that he must have been there for quite a while.</p><p>She cleared her throat as she set down her bag on the chair across from him. He looked up, startled out of his reverie. “Oh, Ms. Cabrera,” he said, settling back in his chair. “You have my apologies for not meeting you downstairs as usual. My grandson Ransom was here earlier for a visit, and I often find myself considering new murder plots after he leaves.”</p><p>Marta nodded, said, “You don’t need to apologize, sir.” She started unpacking a few things from her bag, watching his eyes drift back to the game board. She paused with her stethoscope in her hand. “He won the game against you?”</p><p>Harlan looked back up at her, his gaze piercing. “He beats me just about every time, now,” he admitted. “I do still have the upper hand on him at chess, but he prefers Go, for the obvious reason.”</p><p>“Oh,” Marta said, not sure what else to say. She hooked the stethoscope around her neck.</p><p>“If you’re skilled enough to know who won, you must be experienced with the game. Let’s have a round.” He took one last look at the completed game before sweeping the pieces off to the side. Without waiting for her answer, he took one of each color in hand and offered his closed fists to her.</p><p>“Mr. Thrombey, I’m here to be your nurse, not to–” she protested. He tutted, cutting her off, and firmly shook his fists at her.</p><p>“If you are so insistent on attending solely to your duties, I will gladly add playing Go with an old man who is lacking in entertainment to the list,” he said, adding a touch of frailty to his voice. With a firmer tone, he continued, “I most certainly can afford to pay you for your time.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant,” Marta sighed, but reached out to tap his right fist. He opened it to reveal a black stone, and she took a seat across from him, moving her bag to the floor.</p><p>“Oh ho, good, you go first,” Harlan said, merrily arranging the white stones in front of himself.</p><p>Marta quickly snapped down her beginning move. Harlan replied just as quickly, and for moments the only sound in the room was the click of the stones against the board, and the soft catch in the players’ breath when a move surprised them.</p><p>About twelve turns in, Harlan paused before he made his next move, and tilted his head curiously at Marta. “When did you learn?” he asked, setting down his piece diagonally from one of hers.</p><p>Marta didn’t wait before setting her next stone down. When her move was made, she replied, “In high school.” Feeling a bit guilty for being so terse with Harlan earlier when he was now paying her to simply pass the time with him, she elaborated, “My mom wanted me to do something after school, and sports were not for me.”</p><p>Harlan chuckled and said, “That is exactly why I began writing.” He let the next few turns pass in silence before inquiring, “What drew you to Go? It’s not the most popular game, if Ransom’s opinion is to be believed.”</p><p>“I never liked to talk much,” Marta said, pausing a moment to consider the board.</p><p>As she placed her next stone, Harlan said, a smile in his voice, “Forgive me for the imposition, then. How you must detest me for making you speak!”</p><p>“Not like that,” Marta said, shaking her head. “I–” she cut herself off before she could confess her high school fears. Even as focused on the game as she was, she would never forgive herself if she betrayed her family to her employer. “I’ve never been good at making friends,” she finished stiltedly.</p><p>Harlan gazed at her and said, kindly, “I have always believed that we are not set in stone. As we age and grow, our experiences also grow our talents, however lacking they have been before. My dear, I think you are doing just fine.”</p><p>Feeling a blush start to stain her cheeks, Marta glanced down at the board and said, startled, “I think the game is over. Pass.”</p><p>Harlan rubbed the stone in his hand while he contemplated the board and agreed, “Pass. I hardly need count to know that you won. Congratulations.”</p><p>“I think it’s closer than that,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s a beautiful pattern.”</p><p>Harlan smirked back at her. “I certainly have more ideas buzzing about waiting to be written,” he agreed, “but they can wait for you to finish your duties here. Shall we?” he said, nudging the game board to the side to make room for her to unpack her medical bag.</p><p>“Of course, Mr. Thrombey,” she said, leaning down to grab her bag from where it rested at by her feet.</p><p>“Please, call me Harlan,” he invited, smiling.</p><p>Marta felt her chest warm as well as her cheeks this time, and replied, “Then please, call me Marta.”</p><p>The rest of the appointment passed amiably, and Marta pulled down the long driveway, thinking about her next visit. A beautifully patterned Go board crossed her mind, and she smiled.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Merry Yuletide, minim_calibre! I didn't even realize you had a Dear Yuletide Writer until halfway through writing this, but I'm glad my inspiration matched with one of your suggestions. Whatever reason you have to celebrate this season, I'm wishing that your year ends merrily and bright (and with no mismatched medications or accidental suicides to spoil any birthday parties).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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